End of An Era
by Verdot
Summary: They were a family, but a family that needed distant parents. Because parents eventually have to die, have to let go." Veld learns a rough lesson and Vincent watches.


Michelle Tally is a character I took from Drakonlily, and she doesn't mind loaning her out.

* * *

"It's Tally."

Every Turk knew what that tone meant, those two words put together exactly like that. The rookie--hell Veld hadn't even learned his name yet--had come running into his and Valentine's office and had just enough breath to get that out. Veld knew to drop what he was working on and ask the kid where she was, but not to ask in what state. Goddammit, he'd told her that she should have just sent him, but Tally always was a little stubborn and didn't like feeling old...

It seemed insufferably long to get to the lab, where they all seemed to go when they were busted up. At least the kid was taking him there, and Veld felt strangely optimistic. If she were dead, he'd be going somewhere else, like the parking lot. They were strangely superstitious in that unless someone died in the building, they never took them inside. Kept the number of ghosts down or something ridiculous like that.

The white coats were clustered around her like a shroud. He couldn't see her.

"I'm here to see Michelle Tally! Can I get through?"

"Ah, we're kind of crowded as it is, I'm sure you can get your paperwork..."

Veld would feel bad about shoving the intern out of his way later. Because this wasn't supposed to happen, that's why she was Chief, she was _safe_ in that position and why she shouldn't have been off on missions, no matter how routine.

"Velly? Is that you?"

Oh thank god, she was conscious.

The kid has long since disappeared into the background and the white coats moved around him, nothing more than a rock in a stream. She didn't look that bad, really, probably just a scratch or something, enough to startle her into staying where she was supposed to, hopefully. That kid hadn't seen a real wound before, was probably green, had just over-reacted.

"I'm here, Tally. What did I tell you? Let us young punks get shot at." His tone was teasing, but he realized he did it to hide the slight quiver in his voice. Goddamn it, she was _fine_ there was no use getting worked up.

She didn't laugh, but she did try to smile. She was really pale. "Now I want you to listen, Velly. You're a good kid, don't forget that."

Alright, he did _not_ like her talking like that. She was supposed to chide him about ordering her about, make some crack about how she was the Chief and knew he wore superhero underwear back when she'd taken him in. Or threatened to show everyone the pictures of when he dyed his hair blond and wore ridiculously tight pants. The word _forget_ was too final of a word for Tally and he didn't like hearing it.

"The guys up top will always make up rules a certain way, but you know how we really do things. We're family. A really fucked up family."

He managed to snake his hand around so he could hold hers. She'd just been rattled, he had to keep her calm. That's why she was talking like this. She'd laugh it off later and tell him that he was the reason she'd never had kids, because he kept scaring off her boyfriends. And he'd say that he didn't scare them off, that he was just testing them, because she was better than a lot of that scum.

"It'll be ok, Tally." He didn't like this at all, this fear. Veld hadn't felt fear like this since he was a kid and realized that not all adults were kind, that most of them were downright rotten. That's why it wasn't _fair_ because she wasn't like that at all. She'd been a cop that had gotten roped into this program for her integrity, dammit. He'd tried so hard to scrub the corruption from himself in order to be like her. If she died, then there really was no justice.

But she didn't answer, and the grip on his hand got tight. When he was fourteen she used to check if he was ok by making him show her his hands. She didn't have to look, her eyes were closed but he could see her heart monitor was still going. She knew that he was certainly not alright at the moment.

A doctor was trying to get him to move, but he couldn't hear him. In fact, everything seemed strangely muted, except the steady tick of the monitor. It was slow, but it was there. Like hell was he going to move, they could work around him. Veld wasn't going to leave her until she was better, because that's exactly what she used to do for him. And to think people used to think they were sleeping together--that was wrong and only proved how stupid people were. He usually slept on the couch and she sat with him, because for a while he had those nightmares, those awful nightmares...

"Veld, you have to come with me now."

The voice came from someone strong enough to pull him off his feet, and slowly drag him out of there. The voice started telling him medical things, and he knew it had to be Valentine then. His father was a doctor, after all. Veld didn't understand a word of it, and at one point almost got free of the hold, and knocked over something that looked expensive as far as electronics went.

He realized if he acted calm enough, Valentine would let him go. If Valentine let him go, he could go take care of this. Because that's what he did. Took care of things.

So he relaxed, and Veld's shadow loosened his hold.

"You were just getting in the way, they couldn't help her if--"

"I understand. No, really, I do." The prickles of a plan were edging into the corners of his brain. Because she'd make it, but it was his job, his _duty_ to take care of the filth that had dared try to strike her down.

It was a good thing he let go completely, despite the somewhat confused expression, because a minute or so longer and Veld could _feel_ that part of himself he didn't like. Valentine had a hard time keeping things off his face sometimes, he'd scolded him enough about that. If someone can read you, they know how to get to you. If they know how to get to you then you're vulnerable. You're vulnerable, you're dead.

So he made his way back up to their offices, hands in his pockets and his shadow a comfortable distance behind. He sincerely hoped that the kid didn't think he was going to get in the way.

He'd clean up her office later. But the city had a rhythm and he had all the information he needed to know. Maybe he was being followed, but whoever it was, they knew to stay back. It was the bad old times again, it felt like, only his hair wasn't blond and he certainly wasn't going through some delayed form of puberty. The bad old times where the slightest noise vibrated through his tendons and all he needed was a sign of aggression, anything, and it flipped, just another named on the shelves of Midgar's graves. They'd run out of earth to bury the dead years ago, now they all burned and added to the dark smoke of the sky.

They weren't anything, really, small time thugs that had gotten lucky because Tally hadn't been on the beat since Veld was a teenager. He was a year off of thirty now, they'd gotten lucky that she was always a figher, but never a _killer_. He remembered the difference from when he was an infantryman, when a person had to look carefully but quickly under hats and helmets, through the heavy brush of the Wutai hills to see the eyes of an opponent.

The first two couldn't even be called fighters.

Veld had only brought one gun, just to make sure the job was done without any surprise attacks. But he made sure to take them out in the ways he'd originally been trained; his hands, and blades. His first military weapon had actually been a dull pike, because he'd not been trusted yet to handle a gun. And after assuring the first two cowards were immobile, he let them bleed.

After all, that's what cowards did.

When someone fell into the rhythm of the city, they started to see things for what they did, and focused in on the important parts. Switchblade to the ribs, larynx under heel, shoulder dislocated; all these things were the focus, and soon enough a person was no longer a person. They were the sum of parts, the weakness in the armor. This was how soldiers were made and why they never came back home quite the same.

Eventually all the parts were unmoving. He could see who had followed him now, and had to bite back the urge to focus in on him too. Because he wanted to, wanted to see how far he could get his hands around that slim neck. It was hard to switch off instinct, and it hadn't helped. There was still this awful feeling in him, something that hadn't been sated.

Or was it addressed?

"Are you damage control or something Valentine?"

"Just making sure you don't go too far, Veld."

Funny how their definition of 'too far' was a very liberal one. But that was why they'd partnered them up, to make sure no one went too far. He was just doing his job while Veld tried to trade a bunch of crappy lives for a good one. He'd never been very good at math.

Would need a new switchblade, his old one had broken off in someone's chest. And he still had to find out what exactly had happened. There he was, going off again, being emotional. Tally had taken him in after the war, tried to acclimate him into society because despite it all, she'd believed in it. If she could believe in the decency of people, why couldn't he?

Why couldn't it make any fucking sense?

Veld sat down on the sticky pavement and noticed that it was still daylight. God, if someone other than Valentine saw? Well, then... then his next course of action would have been to call her, and tell her that he was sorry. But even as he looked at his phone, leaving sticky darkening red fingerprints on the keypad, he knew she wouldn't answer.

He was still shaking, and vengeance hadn't been enough.

"We should get out of here."

"I still haven't gotten who's responsible."

"She might be ok Veld, you know her, she's a fighter."

"I still haven't gotten who's responsible."

"Who the hell is actually responsible anymore?"

The kid was crouched next to him now, face unreadable. Oh _now_ he kept shit off his face. And vengeance had always been enough; someone blows up your teammates, you blow them up right back. It was how battles worked, how crime worked, how some religions worked. But he was just a man sitting on the ground getting told by some twenty-five year old college dropout that no one was responsible. Could they be?

Veld let the cold metal touch his wrists. Valentine had been smart to bring those. It was an unusual sort of sensitivity he displayed, making sure that he didn't lash out. Didn't paint everything the same color as his mind. But his usual coping methods were fast falling, and when the kid helped him to his feet, he didn't protest.

"I'll take you to my place. Forgive me for not wanting to leave you out here by yourself."

He'd get the call as soon as it happened, if she stabilized or if she faded. He was next in line, but it was too early, far too early, he was supposed to be at least thirty-five for it to kick in. They'd assign someone else for it, someone who could hand out missions and didn't ask for explanations. That's what the people upstairs wanted.

It would be a long walk.

Veld had never been in Valentine's apartment for any span of time longer than five minutes. Judging by the state of it, he didn't entertain much. There were reasons why he was noticing this, and not how he'd managed to become unshackled and put into clean, if a little large, clothes. Valentine's couch was also more comfortable than his, but Veld had been a little cheap concerning that item of furniture.

"You're awake."

"I was asleep?"

"You practically passed out as soon as we got here."

For a moment, he thought it was a bad dream. That he'd gotten shot on a mission, and he'd miraculously lived, like always. But he checked and there were no bullet holes on his person, no blood at all. Just some slight indentations on his wrists.

"Have you... gotten a call?"

"I answered your phone. She... held out until about an hour ago."

He glanced at the clock. Seven thirty am.

"I suppose it's too early for a drink." It was the only thing he could think of saying, think of doing. He hadn't said goodbye to any of the people that had ever been kind, only gone out and had a drink and hoped that it would stop. But the others had been brief. The only people that had been constant for years were Tally...

"It's alright, my bar's open all the time."

...and now Valentine.

"Well, let's have a drink then, bartender."

As much as he had liked it, liked knowing that someone cared if he lived or died, that had been Tally's flaw. The only one he could think of. They were a family, but a family that needed distant parents. Because parents eventually have to die, have to let go.

"To Michelle Tally."

"And the end of an era."


End file.
